


Springtime Recoup

by wackytackysocks



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Gen, M/M, Reconciliation, Reunions, Spring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 07:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wackytackysocks/pseuds/wackytackysocks
Summary: EXCERPT:Snufkin paused briefly, his hands practically trembling. He couldn’t think clearly, but the notes of Moomin's song came to him like a base instinct. He lead the organ to his mouth, blowing out a fine cluster of notes, gliding the instrument along this way and that. The song was equal parts melancholy and hopeful; it spoke of an old reunion and new meetings, and attested to the beauty of the world and all it bore. His melody lamented over their time apart and mourned the loss of their friendship. Snufkin put his whole soul into this song so that it might reach Moomin's heart.NOTE:This is an OLD work that I never bothered to finish... and as such, I'm not entirely sure if I'll ever revisit it again. But I felt bad for never putting this out, and I wanted to give it another shot... so here it is!I give my endless thanks to the account of blossombell on this site. They were an extremely helpful beta reader and I wouldn't have felt comfortable posting this chapter without their notes and patient guidance!
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll & Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	1. Reunion

The last Snufkin saw of Moominvalley was a very, very long time ago: this, he was sure of. A mumrik such as he rarely retained any concept of time, but nevertheless, he recognized that many seasons came to pass in his absence.

Of course, it wasn’t Snufkin's intention to leave Moominvalley for so long. He only meant to stay on his travels for a few months longer than usual. Snufkin wanted to sort his feelings out good and proper before he made his return in the summertime; he wanted to face Moomin in a peaceful state of mind. But Snufkin wasn't the sort to confront his feelings, let alone the sort to address them. In fact, he was more prone to ignore them completely; he would have rather concerned himself with the mysteries of life than with the mysteries of people.

And so Snufkin fled, suddenly aware that he'd developed feelings of attachment after Teety-Woo called him out one early spring morning. The thought of being tied down… it terrified him. But poor Teety-Woo was undoubtedly unaware that his words would have such an impact on him. It really wasn't his fault that Snufkin decided to leave; Teety-Woo simply served as the initiating action for an event such as this. Snufkin himself carried out the rest.

And what a genuine mistake that was! It was a mistake not to return that spring, and an even bigger mistake to set off in a fit of indignation. As he journeyed farther and farther from home, Snufkin's intent to return that summer turned into an intent to return that fall, which soon turned into an intent to return that winter, ever changing until he travelled so far and for so long that he lost his way back.

He'd always been quite afraid of becoming lost, though he'd never admit as such. Snufkin might be a tramp, but he'd always had a place in this world. He'd always had a purpose.

But once he left Moominvalley, he too left his place of belonging. Snufkin realized this after he’d journeyed for nearly a year; something he hadn't done in a long while. He'd always had a period of rest: a moment to indulge in the attachments he once swore to never make. Only when Snufkin contemplated this did he recognize that such adherences were necessary.

For awhile, Snufkin could cast these worries away with a merry tune or a fine chat. But as time pressed on, he soon began to cringe at the notes of his mouth organ. He began to wince at the sound of another's voice. Soon, Snufkin swore off his harmonica and distanced himself from communing with any strangers. The presence of others perturbed him in a way he couldn't fully explain. He considered that speaking with new acquaintances only reminded him that they weren't Moomin.

He struggled to locate Moominvalley for many, many seasons. The trials he faced were too grand and too vast to name, and the lands he traversed were both nameless to him and its inhabitants. But nevertheless, one thing was for certain; Snufkin's travels were undoubtedly a time of great pain and great adventure. Snufkin would like to relay the stories he’d gathered to Moomin one day, but this is by no means the time for such a story, considering that a meeting between Snufkin and Moomin was long overdue.

Such a meeting was destined to happen on a fine June day some four or five years into Snufkin's absence. His seemingly endless travels ended when he began to realize where he was. Just over yonder, Snufkin could make out the unforgettable silhouette of the Lonely Mountains sitting over the horizon. The realization of where he was felt like a punch to the gut. He was briefly winded from where he stood, his mind all but emptied; and then, all at once, his thoughts exploded. Like a flame ignited, Snufkin threw his pack and guitar to the ground, abandoning his belongings in favor of gaining better mobility.

Snufkin ran the whole way back to Moominvalley, moving as fast as his feet could carry him. Behind him, his cloak blew fiercely in the wind. It was certainly not the same cloak he once possessed, but was indeed green and just as well-worn as the last. Snufkin held his hat tight to his head as he burst through the foliage and into the vale he once called home. Only then did he falter, stock-still and panting heavily.

The valley was familiar, but not at all the sight he remembered. There were so many new houses outcropping the rolling hills he once knew. Snufkin was frightened by the thought that all of Moominvalley had forgotten him — or that no one who remembered him remained. But his hopes were reignited when he saw Moomintroll traversing the riverbank, a basketful of pears on his arm. Carefully, Snufkin pressed onwards, much more deliberate and hesitant than before. It wasn’t long at all before he reached their bridge, his hands trailing the worn wooden rail that lined the river's overpass. The parapet was much shorter than Snufkin recalled. He'd grown several inches since his teenage years; more than he’d originally thought.

As the old wooden boards of the bridge creaked wearily under his weight, Snufkin's fingers reached to tease the hem of his pocket. It seemed that Moomin hadn’t quite noticed him yet. Snufkin could only think of one thing appropriate enough to announce his presence.

Snufkin drew a leather pouch from his pocket, whereupon a shiny metal mouth organ was situated. He quickly pulled the instrument into his hands, at which point he played a solid, sweet note, testing the waters of his music. Even after years of negligence, his trusty harmonica sounded just as saccharine as the seasons before.

Snufkin paused briefly, his hands practically trembling. He couldn’t think clearly, but the notes of Moomin's song came to him like a base instinct. He lead the organ to his mouth, blowing out a fine cluster of notes, gliding the instrument along this way and that. The song was equal parts melancholy and hopeful; it spoke of an old reunion and new meetings, and attested to the beauty of the world and all it bore. His melody lamented over their time apart and mourned the loss of their friendship. Snufkin put his whole soul into this song so that it might reach Moomin's heart.

But his song didn’t appear to touch Moomin, for his countenance was very curious and complex. Regardless, as soon as Moomin heard the sound of that old harmonica playing, he stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly and carefully turned around, as if he was frightened of what he might see behind him.

As their eyes met, Snufkin’s song died out, an oddly vulnerable and exhausted look upon his face. Snufkin’s eyes were full of longing and forgotten hope. It was an extraordinarily strange look on him; Snufkin was rather certain he’d never made such a face before.

He awaited Moomintroll’s acknowledgement with bated breath, watching as his old friend’s expression shifted between a myriad of moods. Snufkin wondered if Moomintroll would address the feelings prevalent on both of their faces, and what he’d do in response to Snufkin’s sudden arrival. A thousand ideas come to his mind as to how he might act: perhaps he would shout and unleash his rage upon him, as Snufkin felt he rightfully should; perhaps he would cry and curse him for causing him pain. Or perhaps Moomin would run to him, whereupon Snufkin could welcome him with open arms.

But Moomintroll did none of these things.

“Hello Snufkin,” he said, his tone somewhat empty and awkward. Moomin began walking back to the bridge he’d just passed moments prior, stopping right where his paws met the wood. A nervous chuckle escaped from him as he gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? My, you look rather different from what I remember.”

Moomintroll’s casual greeting and simplistic comment shook Snufkin to the core. Nevertheless, Snufkin couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment that he’d changed. His face, once young and roguish, was now that of a young man’s, albeit somewhat gaunt. His features remained relatively the same, however. His hair was still cinnamon colored, and his nose was still wide and pointed. But the clothes that adorned him were quite different, seeing as he’d gotten a new cloak, hat, and boots. Still, of all the things that had changed about Snufkin, his height stood out the most. Snufkin stood several inches taller than Moomin, symbolizing the time they’d been apart for. It scared Snufkin, really, the passage of time. He suddenly wished he had his old hat, and that he were short and young once more.

But he wasn’t, and that was a simple fact he had to accept. It was impossible for him to expect the world to stop for him, let alone for Moomintroll’s mentality to stay the same after five long years. Both he and Moomintroll had changed.

Even so, Snufkin never expected Moomintroll to react to his presence in such a way. Moomintroll’s nonchalant countenance was shocking, strange, and completely foreign to Snufkin. Perhaps the Snufkin of old might’ve played along, but the Snufkin of present simply refused to pretend as if nothing was amiss. Mentally preparing himself, Snufkin spoke with as much dignity as he could muster.

“I suppose it wouldn’t suffice to say that I simply got lost,” muttered Snufkin, completely disregarding the casual tone of the conversation that Moomintroll had set. Snufkin took his words down a dark and dangerous path — towards one of feelings and emotions. He spoke with his heart, even if he had very little to say.

“But I have spent all this time trying to return here. To Moominvalley. To you.”

Snufkin paused to acknowledge the harmonica gripped in his right hand, hurriedly stuffing it in his pocket. Unsure of what he should do with his hands, he reached for his hat, plucking it from his head and holding it before his chest, almost like a symbol of mourning.

“I didn’t know what to say,” admitted Snufkin, who was being quite un-Snufkin-like. Snufkin had never been at a loss for words. He spoke when he pleased and how he pleased, and very rarely with any feeling. Or, at the very least, he used to. Snufkin continued to talk without addressing this fact, his gaze set firmly on Moomintroll. “I thought to play your song. It only felt right.”

At Snufkin's speech, poor Moomintroll appeared to be rather conflicted. Previously always aloof and distant, Snufkin had always been hard to get a genuine read on. The Moomintroll of the past would’ve undoubtedly jumped into Snufkin’s arms by now, sputtering out a stream of questions and utterances through tears of joy. The Moomintroll of the present, however, was much more cautious. He appeared to bear some sort of longing; some sort of wish to reach out to Snufkin with warmth, or empathy, or love. But something stopped him. The trust was no longer there.

Snufkin wished it was. He would never purposefully hurt Moomin, but nothing could erase the fact that he had. Things were… changed.

“We’ve… I’ve been waiting for you,” Moomin began slowly, cautiously. “But you never came back. You never called. You never wrote any letters. But now… here you are,” he murmured, whisking his gaze over Snufkin. “Standing right there.”

A somber sort of smile took over Moomintroll’s features. It was genuine, but something significant was amiss. “I’m so glad that you’re here. I really am,” he assured. “I just don’t know what to do now. What is there to be said, really?”

Several seconds of quietude passed before anyone spoke. Shockingly, it was Snufkin who broke the silence.

“Well,” said Snufkin, his exhausted and melancholic expression giving way to a dull smile. “You don't have to decide what to do right now — nor what you feel, for that matter. I intend to stay home for a long while, if Moominvalley will have me,” he murmured, his eyes gently trained on Moomin. As painful as it was to discover how far they've grown apart, it's nice to hear that Moomin remembered him, and that he was glad to see him present. Snufkin was glad to see him, too. He'd missed him. Deeply.

But his train of thought was short-lived, as Snufkin suddenly realized that he'd called Moominvalley a home. Flushing faintly at his mistake, Snufkin glanced into the distance. He spoke very quickly in an attempt to gloss over his blunder. “I ought to have sent letters, Moomintroll. I'm awful sorry. By the time I found a postman, so many seasons had already passed.” 

Perhaps he was subtly implying that he'd thought Moomintroll would've forgotten him, or that he was too embarrassed to write after three or four years of silence. Snufkin was always horrible at writing detailed letters, anyhow — especially ones with feeling.

Even so, Snufkin knew quite well that this was no excuse for his silence. He remained quiet for several moments as he contemplated this, his hands tightly wringing the hem of his hat. Only when he began to feel naked without it did he pull the wide-brimmed hat over his head, covering a good portion of his face. It felt extraordinarily reassuring to have it on. It was one of the very few things he'd be truly sad to lose, along with his instruments and, of course, Moomintroll himself. It was such a horrible thing to go so many years without seeing him.

Moomintroll appeared to maintain a similar state of mind, for his tail began to swing and sway at Snufkin’s speech. Snufkin figured that Moomin must’ve noticed his warm referral of Moominvalley. He suddenly felt rather embarrassed.

"Well, um," Moomin paused to gather himself. There had been a long period between Snufkin’s speech and Moomintroll’s reply, and for once, Snufkin had found the silence to be quite unbearable. "You're always welcome back here, Snufkin, no matter what your reasons are for being gone. I can't wait to hear about your travels! You must have so many wonderful stories to tell — and I imagine we'll have plenty of time to get through them."

Moomin's smile glowed with a familiar sense of excitement, sincerity flaring in his gaze. Snufkin recalled how much Moomintroll enjoyed his stories; it had been such a long time since he’d relayed any. Even though so much remained unsaid between them, he couldn’t help but feel relieved to slip back into their old habits, albeit only momentarily.

“I do have many stories to tell, both terrible and great in equal regard. I’ll let you pick what you’d like to hear. But first, I have a rather pressing matter to attend to,” remarked Snufkin, his words carefully chosen. In the past, Snufkin had outright refused to speak of his travels unless it was at his own pace. But his time around, he’d given Moomin the freedom to prompt as he so pleased. Snufkin must have missed him dearly to allow him such an exception.

Ignoring this, Snufkin offered Moomin a casual, gentle smile. It was the first positive expression to grace his face since their initial reunion. He wondered if his jaded features looked any better with a brighter expression upon them.

His change of expression appeared to aid in lightening the tone of their exchange. What was once somber, apologetic, and lost was now hopeful, calm, and animated. There was still a great divide between Moomin and Snufkin, but he recognized that they had time to mend their relationship. Snufkin felt devotion take root in the place of his listless misery, his apathy slowly turning into determination. It was the most he’d felt in a long while. If anything, his burgeoning emotions were almost too much to bear.

Somewhat overwhelmed, Snufkin cleared his throat and faced the opposite direction, glancing off towards their old worn-down bridge. He chose this moment to elaborate on the predicament he mentioned to Moomintroll just a few moments prior.

“I’m sure you know that I’ve never been very fond of material possessions, but I do have quite a few things I would like to keep in my knapsack,” said Snufkin, his gaze fixed on the southbound forest. He smiled somewhat sheepishly, his eyes faraway. They did not meet Moomin’s sight. “I dropped it on the woodland trail so that I might run faster. Do you mind terribly if we go to pick it up?”

After taking a moment to collect himself, Snufkin found himself able to meet Moomin’s eyes once again. When he did, Moomintroll’s expression was just as calm and visibly content as before. Moomin spoke with as pleasant a voice he could manage.

“I don’t see why not. We can talk on the way,” assured Moomin, who looked to Snufkin with that same unchangeable gaze. Snufkin was beginning to find it somewhat uncomfortable, so he fixed his gaze onto the woodland trail after nodding sharply.

“Lead the way, Snufkin,” stated Moomintroll, who was adjusting the basket hung upon his arm. After that, the two took off down the forest trail in companionable silence.


	2. Regathering What Was Briefly Lost

Most of Snufkin and Moomintroll’s walk had been rather quiet. The two were relieved to see each other, but their differences kept them rather detached. While Snufkin was reclusive and cowardly as always, poor Moomintroll just didn’t know how to cope with the sudden appearance of his long lost friend. Needless to say, neither of them mentioned their insecurities, completely unsure of how to broach the topic. After all, what could one be expected to do in a circumstance such as this? How could one address how sad, angry, and upset they ought to feel?

Because Moomin was sad. He was putting on a wonderful front, but Snufkin could see the pain behind his gaze. And he didn’t know what to do about it.

And so, the stillness persisted.

But the silence had grown uncomfortable at some point, and as it was Moomintroll’s nature to be talkative, he eventually spoke up.

“So, Snufkin," he began. "Would you tell me a story? You said I could pick the sort I'd like to hear," said Moomin. Snufkin raised a brow at his inquiry. Moomintroll elaborated in earnest, his voice tentative yet curious. "I'd love to listen to something romantic. Do you have something like that?"

Snufkin thought for several moments, a frown affixed on his features. A romantic story? What sort? Something heartfelt, perhaps? Something sad? Or was Moomintroll thinking of the adventurous sort of romance — the idealized version of life that never failed to leave one's heart aflutter?

Snufkin thought and thought, but it didn't take very long at all for him to think of the perfect story to tell. He hummed lowly in the back of his throat, wondering what words he should conjure up to bring his story to life. Once Snufkin sorted out his thoughts, he finally began to speak.

"Deep in the South, there's a rather vast savanna. It's very hot, so I try to avoid it when I can… but the bordering country has a bounty on my head, so I had no choice but to pass through the campo," he began, his voice steady as ever. Moomin appeared to be listening rather intently, for his ears had perked up stiffly upon his head. "There's rarely anyone in the savanna; only peculiar animals and small creatures. Most keep to themselves, so I was alone until I'd found a rather well-occupied spring."

"Well-occupied?" probed Moomin, who was already enthralled by the story. Snufkin suppressed the faint urge to laugh.

"Yes," he said. "Mostly by animals — but there was a mumrik there. Only the one. She didn't seem very interested in talking, but we were both present, so we spoke."

Moomin was doing his very best not to interrupt. Snufkin's stories had always been rather slow and deliberate, and oftentimes, Moomin would have to question and probe to get all of Snufkin's feelings and sentiments on a matter. Today, however, he held fast; Moomintroll watched him with intent as they walked.

"The mumrik said that she was waiting for her lover at the reservoir. They met in the savanna a very long time ago. She said that her lover was a princess who lost her traveling party, and that they crossed paths while looking for a source of water. The mumrik argued that her beauty was beyond words; that her gaze could rival the light of the moon,” mused Snufkin, a smile playing at his face. 

“And did they meet at the wellspring?” said Moomin, his curiosity piqued. Snufkin shook his head no, and beside him, Moomintroll’s ears drooped. “Well, that’s not very romantic at all,” he muttered, a look of disappointment on his face.

“Perhaps,” replied Snufkin, a mischievous glint in his eye. “But my story isn’t over.”

Moomintroll, whose tail had dropped awfully low, suddenly lifted his head in Snufkin’s direction. The mumrik in question continued to speak.

“The princess didn’t come to the wellspring,” he explained, “but they did meet elsewhere. After the mumrik and I spent a night at the reservoir, we moved a few miles east. We found another water source there. The princess and the mumrik were taking annual pilgrimages to the savanna in hopes of seeing each other again, but they’d been waiting by the wrong sources of water.”

“Snufkin,” murmured Moomin, a small smile on his face. Moomin looked rather distant just few moments prior, but Snufkin’s tale rekindled the flame of their friendship, if only temporarily. “Do stop. That sounds like a fairy tale!”

At this, Snufkin gave a gentle laugh, his eyes screwing up in mirth. “It’s as true as a dial to the sun,” he said, adjusting his hat upon his head.

Snufkin and Moomintroll settled back into a mutual silence. They were nearing the end of the trail and were soon to find Snufkin’s things. He rather hoped that no one had stolen any of his belongings. Gathering new supplies would be such a waste of time, and losing any of the trinkets he possessed would really put a damper on his day. 

“Snufkin… that story was lovely,” said Moomintroll, his voice hesitantly breaking the quietude. Snufkin was pulled from his thoughts, his attention firmly placed upon Moomin. “But I was hoping to hear something more oriented towards you. Haven’t you got a sweetheart by now? I figured you’d have courted someone during such a long trip.”

Snufkin furrowed his brow, glancing towards the treeline. “No,” he replied. He took some time to choose his words. “I haven’t. And I wouldn’t like to,” finished Snufkin, his sidelong gaze trailing towards Moomin. Confused at why Moomin would ask such a thing, he indirectly commented on the matter, muttering, “That’s a rather silly thought to have.”

Moomin frowned at this. Snufkin was clearly out of his wits if he didn’t understand why Moomin felt the comment necessary. Quietly, his companion spoke.

“Well,” Moomin clarified, “it’s a thought, isn’t it?”

This only confused Snufkin further, which in turn frustrated Moomintroll.

“Oh, Snufkin,” he sighed heavily, stopping in his tracks. Snufkin paused just a few paces ahead. “I just don’t know what to think. You’d said you’d gotten lost, but how? What made you leave? What made you stay away?”

Moomintroll suddenly looked rather crestfallen. “I thought that, if you had to stay, it must’ve been for a very grand and important reason. That perhaps you’d fallen in love with something — or someone.”

Snufkin felt very cold all of a sudden. It was very foolish of him to assume that a story or a song could pave things over between the two of them, even if only for a moment. Moomintroll was clearly spilling at the seams with emotion, and Snufkin had no choice but to confront it. He looked to Moomintroll with an unreadable gaze, speaking quietly.

“I have,” he began, his words oh-so carefully spoken, “fallen in love, that is. With something.”

Moomintroll was visibly taken aback. He’d never heard his friend speak so bluntly. 

Snufkin spoke rather quickly, refusing to leave his words as a standalone sentence. “Moominvalley is a very good and wholesome place,” he supplied, “and it bears very good and wholesome people,” he said. “And when one has only known attachments to be burdensome and dangerous, loving a place can be very difficult,” he said, vaguely.

This did not seem to wholly satisfy Moomin, but he appeared to be catching on. Snufkin chose to elaborate.

“I suppose I was only frightened, Moomin — I found beauty here. And it scared me,” he said, his voice faltering. Snufkin was a wonderful storyteller, but to weave words from his own emotions was nearly impossible. He was clearly out of his range. Acting so intimate was outside of Snufkin's nature; his wordage was undoubtedly very unprecedented, impractical and ungraceful.

But despite his worries, Moomintroll did not appear to be angry. If anything, he appeared relieved. His companion’s features softened, and his shoulders slumped. Sighing, he addressed Snufkin in a rather sad tone.

“Oh, Snufkin,” Moomin murmured gently, his heart full of feeling, “you didn’t have to say all that. I’m sorry; I pushed things along much too quickly.”

Snufkin’s cheeks flooded with warmth. He was suddenly aware that he had indeed said quite a lot.

“Why don’t we collect your things now? We really should save this conversation for later,” stated Moomin, who looked equally embarrassed. He took a few steps towards Snufkin, placing a paw on his upper arm. Snufkin’s anxieties were eased somewhat, but a twisted expression remained on his features.

Relieved to move away from the topic, Snufkin accepted his offer of temporary peace, muttering, “I think that’d be best.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my work! This writing is outdated, but I would deeply appreciate any commentary or critique you have to offer on my work. The tense is almost definitely a little janky at some points, but... I think I've sat on this piece for long enough. Again, thank you for reading, and take care!


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